All Chapters of Never trust a Blackwood : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Ivy's POVMy mother has sent me twelve text messages in the last forty-three minutes, and somehow, not one of them contains the information I actually need.Mom: Have you landed in the states yet?Mom: Ivy?Mom: Your father isn't driving, is he?Mom: Tell me your father isn't driving tired.Mom: I know what he's like when he's tired.Mom: Ivy...Mom: Answer your mother.Mom: And don't go to the old house.Mom: I don't live there anymore.That one probably should've come first.I read the last message twice before looking across at Dad. He's driving with one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his thigh while the wipers fight a losing battle against the rain. We've been back in Seattle for less than an hour after spending three months travelling through Europe, and somehow my mother has already managed to make me feel like I've missed an entire season of my own life. "Did you know she moved?" I ask.Dad keeps his eyes on the road. That alone tells me everything I need to know

Ivy's POVFour days after discovering my mother secretly married a millionaire, I'm standing in the middle of Blackthorne University with two suitcases, a cardboard box digging into my hip and absolutely no fucking idea where I'm going. Mum disappeared ten minutes ago to find somewhere to park, Alexander volunteered to deal with the rest of my luggage, and I confidently told them both I could find Hawthorne House by myself.What a stupid mistake that was.I cannot find Hawthorne House by myself. In my defence, the campus map looked considerably easier to understand when I studied it from the comfort of my bedroom last night. Now there are hundreds of students moving in every direction, parents blocking paths with cars they definitely shouldn't have driven this far onto campus, and enough old stone buildings to make me question whether I've accidentally enrolled at Hogwarts. The rain isn't helping either. Obviously. Because apparently Seattle refuses to let anyone start university dry.

Ivy's POVI'm twenty-three minutes late to family dinner, which would bother me a lot more if I hadn't spent the last forty minutes changing my top that had ketchup on it from yesterday, losing my phone, finding my phone in my hand and then discovering the Uber I ordered had somehow decided the Blackwood estate didn't exist. Technically, I still don't know it's the Blackwood estate. To me, it's just Alex's ridiculous mansion in Bellevue with gates tall enough to discourage both burglars and spontaneous visitors. Mom has already called twice. The first call was polite. The second included my full name, which means I'm approximately one missed call away from being disowned. By the time the car finally turns onto the private road, I'm leaning forward in the back seat, staring at the clock on my phone and trying to calculate whether arriving with wine makes lateness better.But... I don't have wine. Brilliant.The house appears at the end of the drive, lit up against the dark like it's pr

Roman's POVThe bag swings back hard enough to rattle the chain above my head, and I hit it again before it has the chance to settle. Left. Right. Hook. Repeat.My knuckles burn beneath the wraps, sweat runs down the back of my neck, and somewhere behind me, some poor bastard has decided today is the perfect morning to repeatedly drop a f*ck*ng dumbbell. I've been down here since five thirty. It's now pushing seven, and I'm still pissed off.More pissed off, actually, which makes the entire point of coming here questionable. Usually this works. Usually an hour with nobody talking to me and something I'm allowed to hit is enough to get my head straight. Today, every punch brings back the same fucking thing.A dining room. A slammed door. A pair of furious eyes. And four words I've heard inside my head at least fifty times since last night. "Go fuck yourself, Blackwood."I hit the bag again, harder this time, and the chain groans. Fuck her. Seriously. Fuck Ivy Grace Kepner and her smart

Ivy's POVBy eleven in the morning, I’ve decided there are three things I hate about photography assignments. The first is being told to capture something natural while knowing half the university suddenly starts behaving like they’re auditioning for a catalogue the second they notice a camera. The second is Seattle rain, which apparently has a personal issue with expensive equipment. And the third is Professor Hale standing at the front of the room telling twenty-three students that today’s task is simple when I already know it absolutely fucking isn’t.We have two hours to walk around Blackthorne and capture five photographs showing real campus life. No posing. No staging. No asking somebody to repeat whatever they were doing because we missed the shot. He wants movement, expression, interaction and something that feels honest. I love photography. I genuinely do. But apparently loving something doesn’t stop you wanting to throw the assignment sheet out of a window and telling your p